Why won’t he tell me?
If he can’t tell me outright, why can’t he tell me in secret?
He can turn up the music and whisper it in my ear. He could write me a note. Anything, but this.
She takes me to the bathroom and watches me change. She applies my makeup and helps me put on the heels.
I come back to the living room, eager to speak to Easton. But he’s not there.
Mirabelle points to the pool. Easton is swimming laps.
“Let’s go,” she says.
“I have to say goodbye.”
“You don’t have time,” she says and pushes me out of the door.
“What’s going on?” I ask her. “Why…where are you taking me?”
“You will see.”
As we exit Easton’s house, I feel a cloud of darkness descend upon my shoulders. The lightness that I felt only a few hours ago is all but gone.
In reality, I am not a free woman.
I’m a prisoner.
A slave.
I don’t have any say in anything that happens to me.
Mirabelle leads me to a large door.
It’s elaborately carved with scenes depicting people in everyday life.
Some parts of it are scratched up and weathered.
It stands in stark contrast to the rest of the mansion.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Mirabelle asks. “It’s Italian. It used to belong to the Medici family.”
If it’s so old, then shouldn’t it be in a museum, not rotting away in the tropics? I wonder to myself. Mirabelle pushes the doors open and leads me into a long hall.
It’s dark and empty except for the tapestries hanging on the walls. Light streams in through the stained glass windows.
Somewhere in the distance, I see a chair.
More like a throne.
On it sits a figure - his face and body engulfed in shadow.
Mirabelle leads me toward him. Our shoes make a loud clicking sound as we walk, which echoes all around the chamber.
The throne is a baroque high-back chair upholstered in beautiful plush silver velvet fabric. It boasts rich rolled arms and wood silver-finished legs. Slender and elegant, it has somewhat of a contemporary business look.
The man sitting on it looks to be in his sixties and in good shape for his age.
Mirabelle touches my arm just before we get too close to him.
“Do you know who I am, Everly?” he asks.
I don’t really know, but I have my suspicions.
“Venture a guess?” he asks in his soothing, calm voice.
“King of York?”
“That’s a good girl.” He nods approvingly.
The King is dressed in a three piece suit with cufflinks. I don’t know why I’m surprised by this. This is the modern world after all. I’ve seen plenty of royals in magazines wearing suits and regular dress clothes. Still, it’s a bit off-putting.
The King runs his long fingers over the arms of the throne as he looks me up and down.
“Modern people don’t have the proper clothes to sit on thrones, do they?” he asks, as if he is able to read my mind.
Not sure how to respond, I shrug.
“It’s not like it was back in the day. I mean, I read about these Kings and Queens and their elaborate garb…because, of course, they didn’t wear just clothes, they wore garb.”
“Yes…sir,” I say.
“You don’t have anything else to add to what I just said?” he challenges me.
I take a moment to collect my thoughts.
“Well, I guess it’s the nature of the world right now,” I say. “With manners and etiquette falling by the wayside, sir.”
I lower my head slightly in a respectful nod. Keeping my head in this position, I put my left foot behind my right and shift most of my weight onto the front. Then I lower down, bending my knees outward.
“An unexpected curtsy! Wow, I’m impressed,” the King exclaims, clapping his hands. “Only, you want to extend your right foot behind your left. Otherwise, that was perfect execution.”
“Yes, sir,” I repeat myself and do as he says. He claps louder.
“Well, well, well, Ms. Everly March. You…are full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I’m not sure how to answer, so I just interlace my fingers and stand broad-shouldered before him.
I look straight into his eyes, but my gaze is without challenge.
The King looks me up and down. His eyes narrow and then relax.
He runs his hands through his wavy dark hair, which is only now getting a few brushes of gray. He is not an unattractive man and I can see traces of Easton in him.
However, unlike Easton, there’s a coldness emanating from him.
I don’t want to admit it, but it fills me with fear.
“I have been watching you, Everly March,” he says, adjusting himself in his seat. “And I like what I see.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What do you think about this competition we are having here?”
That’s a loaded question if I have ever heard one.
What do I think of kidnapping women for your pleasure?
What do I think about the games you play with people’s lives?
Nothing good, I can tell you that.
But, of course, I can’t.
I have to be diplomatic, but more than that actually.
I have to be charming and disarming.
I suspect that he’s one of the judges, so it would behoove me to get him on my side.
“It’s quite challenging, sir,” I say, standing up straight and lifting my chin. “But I like a good challenge.”
He looks at me for a moment. My heart sinks at the thought that I might have said something wrong.
But then he starts to laugh.
A loud roaring sound emanates from the pit of his stomach.
“I like being right, Everly. Even though I’m the King and people tend to agree with me, I like finding those moments in life when I and everyone else knows that I am right.”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a respectful nod.
“Well, at first, I thought that maybe I was being a little cruel with my son, Easton. I mean, he’s kind of a tender soul. Not like my other son, Abbott.”
The mention of Abbott’s name sends shivers down my spine. “So, when it came time for me to punish Easton for raising his hand to his older brother to protect you…”
Punish Easton? What is he talking about? I narrow my eyes for a moment, but then force myself to relax them.
No, I can’t let him see me question him.
But the King doesn’t notice a thing.
“As you know, you are a commoner in these parts, and Easton is a Prince. That means that Easton had no right to hit his brother to protect you from him…no matter what Abbott does.”
I stand before him, motionless.
“Do you not agree?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.
I feel myself starting to tremble in fear, but I remain stoic.
Unreadable.
“Of course, I do,” I finally say.
“I thought you would.” He laughs. “You’re a smart girl. You may not know the rules of York quite yet, but you’ve got a good sense of how we do things when you were…down below.”
My cheeks get flushed.
He knows.
Of course, he knows.
How could he not?
My heartbeat starts to speed up, and I take a deep breath to calm down.
I can’t let him see me flustered. I can’t let him rattle me.
“So, I guess, you agree with me then, huh?”
“About what, sir?” I ask quietly.
“That I made the right decision.”
“I am sure you did.” These words come out even quieter than the ones before.
He is toying with me.
Not quite revealing his whole hand.
Making me guess.
But what is he getting at?
�
��Good, that’s good!” the King says, clapping his hands. “And I thought that you might be upset by the fact that I had ordered Easton to spend the night with you.”
What does that mean? A hundred different questions run through my mind. I look up at the King, no longer able to keep my true feelings to myself.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” the King asks mockingly. “Well, yes, of course, you didn’t know. I also ordered him not to tell you.” He laughs again and his loud ugly laugh echoes around us.
“Don’t look at me like that, honey. I didn’t have a choice. Easton had to learn a lesson.”
Fighting against everything that’s boiling up within me, I’m somehow able to restrain even one tear from escaping my eyes.
“You know, I really thought you would have a harder time with this,” the King adds.
“No, I understand, sir. You had to do what you had to do,” I say loudly.
“I am glad to hear that. You might make a good Queen after all.”
Good Queen?
What does that mean?
“You may go now.” He waves his hand.
“Excuse me, but what do you mean by that, sir?” I ask. Mirabelle tries to drag me away, but I turn to face him.
“I am looking for a new wife,” the King says, giving me a coy smile.
I’m stunned. I stare at him, dumbfounded.
Mirabelle pushes me to get me to move.
“Let’s go,” she hisses. Reluctantly, I follow her out of the door.
“You knew about this?” I ask when we get outside.
“Please, follow me,” she says instead.
“No, I will not!” I shrug her hand off my shoulder.
“I’m done doing what you tell me. I’m done with this place and these games.”
Hot tears start to stream down my face. I try to hold them back, but I can’t.
“Listen to me.” Mirabelle spins me around. “You are not done with this place. You were great in there. Composed. Elegant. That’s who you need to be.”
“No,” I mumble. “I can’t.”
“If you don’t, then you will be sent back to the dungeons. Or worse.”
“What’s worse?” I ask through the tears.
“Sold off. To one of his friends. In another part of the world. You will never be heard from again.”
I shake my head and collapse onto the ground. “No, no, no. I can’t do this anymore.”
Mirabelle slaps me across the face. This action stuns me and I look at her surprised.
“If you want to survive here, you have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. The King has taken a liking to you. That is not something that happens everyday. Trust me. You do not want to make him regret it.”
“But what about Easton? How could he do that to me?” I ask. “I thought…I thought we had a connection.”
“He was ordered to seduce you and make love to you. He was just doing as he was told.”
I run my fingers over the gravel underneath my feet.
Less than an hour ago, I thought that I had met someone who really understood me.
Cared for me.
But perhaps not.
Perhaps that was all an illusion.
I look up at the sky and watch as the bright yellow moon moves behind a murky cloud.
Can I do this?
Can I survive this place?
I have to try.
What other choice do I have?
Thank you for reading HOUSE OF YORK!
I hope you enjoyed Everly and Easton’s story. Can’t wait to find out what happens next?
One-click CROWN OF YORK now!
He used to be my only hope. Easton Bay: a man who’s as ruthless as he’s gorgeous and as tender as he is cruel. His every touch sends shivers down my spine.
I crave him.
He saved me once, but will he do it again? He’s a mystery. An enigma. A suspense.
There’s a darkness inside of him. It scares me to my very core. Yet, I pull closer with each breath. I am an addict and he is my drug.
What happens when it’s not enough?
One-click CROWN OF YORK Now!
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* * *
Black Series:
Black Edge
Black Rules
Black Bounds
Black Contract
Black Limit
House of York Trilogy:
House of York
Crown of York
Throne of York
Standalone Novels:
Debt
Offer
Unknown
Dressing Mr. Dalton
About Charlotte Byrd
Charlotte Byrd is the bestselling author of many contemporary romance novels. She lives in Southern California with her husband, son, and a crazy toy Australian Shepherd. She loves books, hot weather and crystal blue waters.
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House of York, #1 Page 17